Awhile back I posted a quote that compared loss of a loved one with major surgery and I needed to treat myself as if I’m in intensive care. So true! Losing my daughter felt like a part of me had been amputated. Even though there could be no denying the reality of what happened, my brain struggled with accepting it. How could this have happened? How could it be? Surely this can’t be real, and yet I know it is. Everything in my life turned upside down. Nothing would ever be the same. A little later, I wrote a short poem about giving myself permission to stay wrapped in the comforting shelter of my cocoon. I wondered if I’d ever emerge and live again, and how would I know when I’m ready? Now I know. Dissatisfaction. I thought I could stay in a state of immobility forever. It felt so peaceful, my life in slow motion. But now, it’s different. I’m discontent. Restless. I no longer want to stay cooped up. This cocoon is claustrophobic. I think I know how a butterfly or moth feels,

Or, perhaps, it's more like a bird pecking and pushing its way out of the egg. Emerging is not without struggle. The tug of temptation to stay in my safe place wrestles with restlessness of needing to get on with my life. I lean one way and then the other, teetering between the two. Even this, I know is part of the process. The scent of adventure lures me further out. I have before me an opportunity to go in a completely new direction in my life. If everything is turned upside down and nothing is the same, why not take full advantage of the moment. Dream a new dream! Dare a new journey! I’m really not as bold as I sound. I’m still me. Yet, as I’m constantly saying, life goes on. My life may have changed forever in ways I never would have chosen if I’d had a choice, but here I am. I’d rather look forward than backwards, see the sunshine rather than the shadows, and see potential rather than lack. That's me.

Don't mistake my optimism for amnesia, though. The amputated part of my heart didn't grow back, and sadness is a companion that never leaves my side. I haven't "gotten over it," and it's not even accurate to say I've "moved on." I'm simply choosing to live my life. Step by step, my journey continues.

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Sara Faith Nelson

Sharing the journey, because, I find there are so many others making the trek through life without a loved onewe expected to be​with us always. A reminder that we are not alone, and we can survive and thrive!

Dedicated toJeanette Marie, my very wonderful daughter and the sunshine of my life. 1978-2014